Back in '93 Ontario's first and only "socialist" government, being short of funds and casting about for new sources of revenue, introduced casino gambling in the province.
Five years later, that government had been swept out of power, but the casinos were doing a roaring trade. Conservative Premier Mike Harris, once an outspoken critic of casinos, undertook a major expansion of legal gambling in Ontario. After all, the Conservative government was short of funds and was casting about for more sources of revenue.
That met with a lot of resistance. The government soothed the populace by coming to a revenue sharing agreement with the horse-racing industry. It was a brilliant strategy.
Horses are warm and cuddly. Horse racing culture is a warm and fuzzy place that smells like hay and straw and all that good country stuff. It's got a rural wholesomeness that slot machines don't have. Tying the expansion of gambling to that folksy horsey image was a win-win. Harris got his gambling expansion.
Fast forward fifteen years. The government of today, now Liberal, is short of funds and casting about for more revenue. That 20% of gambling revenue that the horse racing industry gets in return for letting slot machines associate with its wholesome image has become nearly $350 million a year.
Somebody in that Liberal government realized that's a lot of oats. They also realized that after a generation of legalized gambling most Ontarions have become acclimatized to the idea. They don't need the warm and cuddly horse culture to help the medicine go down.
So quicker than you can say stab-me-in-the-back, the government decides the revenue sharing agreement of fifteen years ago isn't a revenue sharing agreement at all.
It's a subsidy!
"In these difficult times, we can't justify subsidizing the horse racing industry to the tune of $350 million a year... that would buy 27,000 hip replacement surgeries... "
When you frame it like that, the horse racing industry doesn't have a chance.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Wiping Syria from the map
While researching the topic of oil embargoes and oil pipelines this morning I ran across this quote:
This is a new world order now. This is what things look like... particularly if we wipe out Syria... it is all about oil.
The speaker is James Akins, American ambassador to Saudi Arabia in the 1970's and a man who knew the oil business and petro-politics as well as anyone on the planet.
He's speaking in 2003 and quoted in a Guardian article about the feasibility of an Iraq-Haifa oil pipeline.
Those were heady times, those triumphalist months basking in the first blush of victory over Sadam. Anything was possible. The Pentagon had big plans for Ahmed Chalabi, international man of mystery and bullshitter supreme. With Chalabi in the driver's seat in Baghdad, not even the sky was the limit!
Then of course it all went for a shit.
Democracy, however imperfect, reared its head and cut short Chalabi's political career in Iraq. He is in many quarters today regarded as an Iranian agent.
The Israel-Iraq pipeline was never built, but according to a Guardian article by Richard Silverstein in 2008, the Haifa refinery met its crude oil needs by buying Iranian oil.
Also around that time, Iran and Iraq announced an agreement to build a pipeline from Basra in the south of Iraq to the Iranian city of Abadon. At the time, I believe the plan was to pump Iraqi crude to a refinery in the Iranian city.
One of the marvels of a pipeline is that its contents can flow in either direction. Would the Shia government in Iraq support their Shia brothers in Iran by shipping Iranian oil from Basra as Iraqi product? Just wondering.
A rise in Iraqi exports in step with a decline in Iranian exports could very well signal that this is happening.
The US-led embargo seems to be a fickle creature. Just the other day one of America's closest allies in Africa, Kenya, signed a major deal with Iran to import their oil.
One would almost think that the embargo is more about optics than about oil.
As for Syria, it looks like Akins' plan is running about ten years behind schedule.
This is a new world order now. This is what things look like... particularly if we wipe out Syria... it is all about oil.
The speaker is James Akins, American ambassador to Saudi Arabia in the 1970's and a man who knew the oil business and petro-politics as well as anyone on the planet.
He's speaking in 2003 and quoted in a Guardian article about the feasibility of an Iraq-Haifa oil pipeline.
Those were heady times, those triumphalist months basking in the first blush of victory over Sadam. Anything was possible. The Pentagon had big plans for Ahmed Chalabi, international man of mystery and bullshitter supreme. With Chalabi in the driver's seat in Baghdad, not even the sky was the limit!
Then of course it all went for a shit.
Democracy, however imperfect, reared its head and cut short Chalabi's political career in Iraq. He is in many quarters today regarded as an Iranian agent.
The Israel-Iraq pipeline was never built, but according to a Guardian article by Richard Silverstein in 2008, the Haifa refinery met its crude oil needs by buying Iranian oil.
Also around that time, Iran and Iraq announced an agreement to build a pipeline from Basra in the south of Iraq to the Iranian city of Abadon. At the time, I believe the plan was to pump Iraqi crude to a refinery in the Iranian city.
One of the marvels of a pipeline is that its contents can flow in either direction. Would the Shia government in Iraq support their Shia brothers in Iran by shipping Iranian oil from Basra as Iraqi product? Just wondering.
A rise in Iraqi exports in step with a decline in Iranian exports could very well signal that this is happening.
The US-led embargo seems to be a fickle creature. Just the other day one of America's closest allies in Africa, Kenya, signed a major deal with Iran to import their oil.
One would almost think that the embargo is more about optics than about oil.
As for Syria, it looks like Akins' plan is running about ten years behind schedule.
Good news for the corner office, bad news for the Spaniard in the street
My morning Globe has this good news/ bad news story from Spain.
The gist of the story is that there's bad news ahead for Spaniards who bought preferred shares in Spain's banks, the so-called retail investors, regular folks who bought preferreds as a supposedly safe investment for whatever life savings they have been able to accrue.
The authors suggest that the Spaniards will likely come away with around 30 cents on the dollar.
So where's the good news? Well, in the first place, it's good news that they won't be quite as screwed over as the small investors in Ireland, who came away with an even greater fleecing.
But the really good news is in the last sentence of the article;
So far there is no suggestion of forcing losses on senior creditors.
And who would these "senior" creditors be? Why, the same banks that the austerity-ravaged folks in the street have been busy bailing out!
And who would be the genius behind this save-the-rich strategy? Why none other than Luis de Guindos, who before becoming Economic Minister was a director of Lehman Brothers European operations.
It's yet one more example of how being part of the team that created the global crisis in finance is considered qualification to run a national economy.
The gist of the story is that there's bad news ahead for Spaniards who bought preferred shares in Spain's banks, the so-called retail investors, regular folks who bought preferreds as a supposedly safe investment for whatever life savings they have been able to accrue.
The authors suggest that the Spaniards will likely come away with around 30 cents on the dollar.
So where's the good news? Well, in the first place, it's good news that they won't be quite as screwed over as the small investors in Ireland, who came away with an even greater fleecing.
But the really good news is in the last sentence of the article;
So far there is no suggestion of forcing losses on senior creditors.
And who would these "senior" creditors be? Why, the same banks that the austerity-ravaged folks in the street have been busy bailing out!
And who would be the genius behind this save-the-rich strategy? Why none other than Luis de Guindos, who before becoming Economic Minister was a director of Lehman Brothers European operations.
It's yet one more example of how being part of the team that created the global crisis in finance is considered qualification to run a national economy.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Pardes Chaim Cemetery
By Jeezus, I swear this field was planted with soybeans the last time I was this far up Bathurst a couple years ago.
Now it's the Pardes Chaim Cemetery, Uncle Murray's final resting place.
Don't know why he picked this place. Coulda been a couple miles over at the Pardes Shalom with Uncles Frank and Henry and a bunch of the others. At least over there the shade trees make shade. Here the "shade trees" are an inch in diameter and about six feet high.
And he's buried amongst a bunch of Russians. Not that there's anything wrong with that. A Jew is a Jew I suppose, and far be it for me, a token goy around here, to pass judgement.
Still, it all seems a bit incongruous. First I thought, well, Murray knew the value of a dollar, and he's saved a bit on shade trees to leave a bit more for the heirs.
Then I checked the Pardes Chaim website. Seems they're owned by the same outfit that runs Pardes Shalom, and as far as I could tell the prices were the same.
That's got to be a good gig, cemetery management. I would think it's the quiet side of property management. Not a lot of loud parties to deal with.
But I digress.
Nobody saw me step out of the car and touch my forehead to the ground. God only knows what scandal that would have unleashed. Bad enough to be the token Goy.
That "kiss the earth" deal might have marked me as a secret toweller.
This family has suffered enough, and even though they put up with me, I'm not certain they could put up with that.
Let me explain.
I had the honor of bringing the wife of the deceased down to Toronto from Owen Sound. That is an honor. Little did she realize she'd be riding down in my Subaru Impreza.
For those readers who don't know, that's what's commonly known as a "compact" car.
Very compact.
And it wasn't just Aunt Flo I was taking to Toronto. Junior and the Farm Manager and the Bubbinator had to get there too.
Great! Four Jews in a Subaru with me driving.
Now this may seem simple enough on the face of it, but let me explain. This Subaru is a recent acquisition. Not only that, but it's a really small car. Not that small when I'm driving it alone, but by God, when you pile four passengers in, it gets small fast.
Let me further explain the logistics of the trip.
I'm not saying Aunt Flo is large, but she's a bit larger than the svelte self I've seen in her wedding pictures. In short, if Auntie Flo is making this trip, she ain't riding in the back.
That of course leaves Junior, the Farm Manager, and the Bubbinator to share the back seat.
Now, none of them are "large" large, but none of them are midgets either.
So we were packed in there pretty tight.
Another thing about Aunt Flo, she's an old-school girl. She's an old-school Jewish broad who is loud and proud and if you don't like it... well, just get out of her way.
She also has old-school habits when it comes to putting on perfume.
In Flo's world, if a little dab'll do ya, a good splash will do ya way longer.
So Flo was perfumed up pretty good by the time we got to her apartment.
We head down the highway for Pardes Chaim. Thank God the air-conditioning is working like a charm.
First thing Flo does is relocate my coffee into a different cup-holder, better to make room I suppose. As we pull away from her building the coffee topples onto my lap.
She's sorry. I'm sorry too. Let's not worry about it...
Ten miles out of town the air conditioning starts blowing warm. This is not good. We've got 150 miles to go.
Ten miles after that I notice the temperature gage on the Subaru is heading for the sky.
Oh-oh.
I've mentioned that the Subaru was a recent addition to the family fleet. I'd noticed before that it has a habit of randomly overheating.
But please, God, not now!
I'm in the hills between Markdale and Chatsworth, the temp gage peaking and then settling down and then peaking again...
I've got a vision of me standing beside the road with Aunt Flo and the Bubbinator and the rest of them, thumbs out, hoping to get a ride the rest of the way to Murray's funeral...
That would pretty much ensure me a place in the Schmuck Hall of Shame.
Never mind the Hall of Shame; I'd be the schmuckiest schmuck who ever beschmucked the planet!
To say the rest of the trip was pins and needles is the least of it.
"Would you like some grapes and cheese?" Aunt Flo would ask.
I'm 150% focused on the temperature gage.
No thank you.
Aunt Flo must have asked me two dozen times if I'd like some grapes and cheese...
No.
Thank you!
Miracle beyond miracles, we made it to Pardes Chaim, whereupon the folks already present were amused to see just how many people could disembark a tiny Subaru.
Ya folks, have your chuckle, but you don't even know the quarter of it!
Which is why I kissed the ground.
But no matter. On this hottest day of the year in a cemetery with no shade, having just arrived in a car with no air conditioning, a hot wind suddenly blew up.
Just as I was attempting to secure a kippa on my head.
Now the Farm Manager's folks aren't over-the-top religious, but they do don the kippas on occasions such as this. How do you keep a kippa on in a 30k gust?
They were trying it all around me. Paper clips. Bobby pins.
I was struggling till bro-in-law Ben says, hey, you're not a Jew anyway, just take the damn thing off!
Easy for him to say. I notice he's not having any trouble keeping his kippa on in a torrential gust... probably because he's got a piece of carpet tape between that near-bald pate and his kippa.
Anyway, after chasing the kippa down in the wind-swept former soy-fields a couple times, I finally put it in my back pocket and made it to the grave side. Half the guys there had their kippas in their back pockets.
I've been to a few funerals in my time. I have to say Cantor Silverberg pulled off one of those deals where you walk away saying that was just right. Not something that happens at every funeral.
And the Farm Manager delivered a eulogy that was at once over the sky and very much down to earth.
Nice send-off, Uncle Murray!
Now it's the Pardes Chaim Cemetery, Uncle Murray's final resting place.
Don't know why he picked this place. Coulda been a couple miles over at the Pardes Shalom with Uncles Frank and Henry and a bunch of the others. At least over there the shade trees make shade. Here the "shade trees" are an inch in diameter and about six feet high.
And he's buried amongst a bunch of Russians. Not that there's anything wrong with that. A Jew is a Jew I suppose, and far be it for me, a token goy around here, to pass judgement.
Still, it all seems a bit incongruous. First I thought, well, Murray knew the value of a dollar, and he's saved a bit on shade trees to leave a bit more for the heirs.
Then I checked the Pardes Chaim website. Seems they're owned by the same outfit that runs Pardes Shalom, and as far as I could tell the prices were the same.
That's got to be a good gig, cemetery management. I would think it's the quiet side of property management. Not a lot of loud parties to deal with.
But I digress.
Nobody saw me step out of the car and touch my forehead to the ground. God only knows what scandal that would have unleashed. Bad enough to be the token Goy.
That "kiss the earth" deal might have marked me as a secret toweller.
This family has suffered enough, and even though they put up with me, I'm not certain they could put up with that.
Let me explain.
I had the honor of bringing the wife of the deceased down to Toronto from Owen Sound. That is an honor. Little did she realize she'd be riding down in my Subaru Impreza.
For those readers who don't know, that's what's commonly known as a "compact" car.
Very compact.
And it wasn't just Aunt Flo I was taking to Toronto. Junior and the Farm Manager and the Bubbinator had to get there too.
Great! Four Jews in a Subaru with me driving.
Now this may seem simple enough on the face of it, but let me explain. This Subaru is a recent acquisition. Not only that, but it's a really small car. Not that small when I'm driving it alone, but by God, when you pile four passengers in, it gets small fast.
Let me further explain the logistics of the trip.
I'm not saying Aunt Flo is large, but she's a bit larger than the svelte self I've seen in her wedding pictures. In short, if Auntie Flo is making this trip, she ain't riding in the back.
That of course leaves Junior, the Farm Manager, and the Bubbinator to share the back seat.
Now, none of them are "large" large, but none of them are midgets either.
So we were packed in there pretty tight.
Another thing about Aunt Flo, she's an old-school girl. She's an old-school Jewish broad who is loud and proud and if you don't like it... well, just get out of her way.
She also has old-school habits when it comes to putting on perfume.
In Flo's world, if a little dab'll do ya, a good splash will do ya way longer.
So Flo was perfumed up pretty good by the time we got to her apartment.
We head down the highway for Pardes Chaim. Thank God the air-conditioning is working like a charm.
First thing Flo does is relocate my coffee into a different cup-holder, better to make room I suppose. As we pull away from her building the coffee topples onto my lap.
She's sorry. I'm sorry too. Let's not worry about it...
Ten miles out of town the air conditioning starts blowing warm. This is not good. We've got 150 miles to go.
Ten miles after that I notice the temperature gage on the Subaru is heading for the sky.
Oh-oh.
I've mentioned that the Subaru was a recent addition to the family fleet. I'd noticed before that it has a habit of randomly overheating.
But please, God, not now!
I'm in the hills between Markdale and Chatsworth, the temp gage peaking and then settling down and then peaking again...
I've got a vision of me standing beside the road with Aunt Flo and the Bubbinator and the rest of them, thumbs out, hoping to get a ride the rest of the way to Murray's funeral...
That would pretty much ensure me a place in the Schmuck Hall of Shame.
Never mind the Hall of Shame; I'd be the schmuckiest schmuck who ever beschmucked the planet!
To say the rest of the trip was pins and needles is the least of it.
"Would you like some grapes and cheese?" Aunt Flo would ask.
I'm 150% focused on the temperature gage.
No thank you.
Aunt Flo must have asked me two dozen times if I'd like some grapes and cheese...
No.
Thank you!
Miracle beyond miracles, we made it to Pardes Chaim, whereupon the folks already present were amused to see just how many people could disembark a tiny Subaru.
Ya folks, have your chuckle, but you don't even know the quarter of it!
Which is why I kissed the ground.
But no matter. On this hottest day of the year in a cemetery with no shade, having just arrived in a car with no air conditioning, a hot wind suddenly blew up.
Just as I was attempting to secure a kippa on my head.
Now the Farm Manager's folks aren't over-the-top religious, but they do don the kippas on occasions such as this. How do you keep a kippa on in a 30k gust?
They were trying it all around me. Paper clips. Bobby pins.
I was struggling till bro-in-law Ben says, hey, you're not a Jew anyway, just take the damn thing off!
Easy for him to say. I notice he's not having any trouble keeping his kippa on in a torrential gust... probably because he's got a piece of carpet tape between that near-bald pate and his kippa.
Anyway, after chasing the kippa down in the wind-swept former soy-fields a couple times, I finally put it in my back pocket and made it to the grave side. Half the guys there had their kippas in their back pockets.
I've been to a few funerals in my time. I have to say Cantor Silverberg pulled off one of those deals where you walk away saying that was just right. Not something that happens at every funeral.
And the Farm Manager delivered a eulogy that was at once over the sky and very much down to earth.
Nice send-off, Uncle Murray!
Israeli court finds former PM Olmert only a little bit crooked
Guilty on a single count of "breach of trust" apparently.
So much for all that corruption hoo-ha.
Have to admit I was never much of an Olmert fan. But I have to say I'm starting to like the guy.
Claims he was brought down by "right-wing American Jews" with deep pockets.
That can only mean our good friend Sheldon Adelson, primary backer of the Newtster's primary run, and one of the biggest backers of Likud boss Netanyahu.
Not that there aren't other Jews in America with deep pockets, but Adelson is the only one who will unabashedly pour millions into losing causes just because he can.
So now Olmert is on a mission to bring down Adelson. He has sworn revenge.
Go Ehud!
So much for all that corruption hoo-ha.
Have to admit I was never much of an Olmert fan. But I have to say I'm starting to like the guy.
Claims he was brought down by "right-wing American Jews" with deep pockets.
That can only mean our good friend Sheldon Adelson, primary backer of the Newtster's primary run, and one of the biggest backers of Likud boss Netanyahu.
Not that there aren't other Jews in America with deep pockets, but Adelson is the only one who will unabashedly pour millions into losing causes just because he can.
So now Olmert is on a mission to bring down Adelson. He has sworn revenge.
Go Ehud!
I know how you feel lady; NASCAR bores me to death too
Here's a sweet/sad story.
An elderly gal in Michigan didn't know quite what to do when her hubby had the big one right there in the La-z-boy in front of the TV.
So she threw a comforter over him and they kept watching TV.
For at least a couple of years, according to authorities. Only since December, according to her. What they agree on is she kept cashing his pension checks.
They watched a lot of NASCAR according to the story.
Which puts my personal NASCAR viewing dilemma in a whole different perspective.
From time to time I find myself watching one of those 500 milers from one of the shorter tracks. Round and round and round we go...
It'll be a sunny Sunday afternoon outside.
Round and round and round some more...
Sooner or later I inevitably choose fresh air and sunshine. After all, the good stuff is going to be on the highlight reel.
Besides, there'll be lots of time to watch NASCAR when I'm dead.
An elderly gal in Michigan didn't know quite what to do when her hubby had the big one right there in the La-z-boy in front of the TV.
So she threw a comforter over him and they kept watching TV.
For at least a couple of years, according to authorities. Only since December, according to her. What they agree on is she kept cashing his pension checks.
They watched a lot of NASCAR according to the story.
Which puts my personal NASCAR viewing dilemma in a whole different perspective.
From time to time I find myself watching one of those 500 milers from one of the shorter tracks. Round and round and round we go...
It'll be a sunny Sunday afternoon outside.
Round and round and round some more...
Sooner or later I inevitably choose fresh air and sunshine. After all, the good stuff is going to be on the highlight reel.
Besides, there'll be lots of time to watch NASCAR when I'm dead.
Canada in Kandahar, not punching above their weight after all
Brian Stewart has what amounts to an extended book review at the CBC site today. Stewart is a recently retired journalist.
The three books he references apparently all have less than flattering portrayals of Canada's efforts in Afghanistan. Not only did the Canadians fail to bring much weight to the game in the first place, they certainly didn't punch above it. Stewart now claims this assessment rings true.
From General Rick Hillier's ill-advised opening salvo about "killing scumbags" the Canadian mission in Afghanistan was doomed by overreach and hubris from the very beginning. Stewart lays the blame for this at the feet of both the civilian and military leadership.
I'd like to implicate another culpable party; the media.
When Hillier and Peter MacKay were busy running off at the mouth and making asinine statements about Canada's enviable reputation for "punching above our weight" the media were uncritical cheerleaders.
Editorials in the major papers regularly trotted out this nonsense, and continue to do so.
After 158 Canadian deaths, many more grievously maimed, billions of dollars pissed away, it's time we started hearing the truth.
The three books he references apparently all have less than flattering portrayals of Canada's efforts in Afghanistan. Not only did the Canadians fail to bring much weight to the game in the first place, they certainly didn't punch above it. Stewart now claims this assessment rings true.
From General Rick Hillier's ill-advised opening salvo about "killing scumbags" the Canadian mission in Afghanistan was doomed by overreach and hubris from the very beginning. Stewart lays the blame for this at the feet of both the civilian and military leadership.
I'd like to implicate another culpable party; the media.
When Hillier and Peter MacKay were busy running off at the mouth and making asinine statements about Canada's enviable reputation for "punching above our weight" the media were uncritical cheerleaders.
Editorials in the major papers regularly trotted out this nonsense, and continue to do so.
After 158 Canadian deaths, many more grievously maimed, billions of dollars pissed away, it's time we started hearing the truth.
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